


And the Rest is Void

by WaywardLeviathan



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Ending, Dishonored 1, Everybody Dies, F/M, High Chaos (Dishonored), I'm Sorry, Mute Corvo Attano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 01:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15207779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardLeviathan/pseuds/WaywardLeviathan
Summary: "He was so tired, so battered and worn, so far gone he didn't realize that their kindness and and promises of revenge were all a ploy to get him to clear the way for their victory. He didn’t question it, and ended up playing right into their hands. He became their assassin, and tried not to think about Daud."





	And the Rest is Void

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be working on my big Skyrim fic, but I'm lazy and also needed to write something else for a bit.

Corvo crouched low on the edge of the platform, clutching his blade like a lifeline until his scarred knuckles went white. The wind and rain chilled him to his very bones, and yet he still ceased to care, ceased to notice that his once regal uniform was now tattered and stained beyond recognition. His hair had become unkempt and matted, and a beard had long since sprouted that he only occasionally trimmed with a half-hearted sloppiness. The bags under his eyes from months past never really went away.

Of course, none of this was something anyone would notice, as the very visage of Death was before them. How could they notice it was merely a mask that hid away a broken, empty excuse for a man? All they would see was delicately carved steel and the predatory gait of its wearer.

This was who he was ever since Daud's blade had pierced his empress' lungs, and she choked and wheezed before dying in his arms. The day their beautiful baby girl was ripped from his grasp, screaming and pleading for help. He would never forget that particular shade of violent red that the assassin wore like a badge, nor the feeling of his magic locking him in place as he helplessly watched as his family met their fate.

Corvo hardly remembers anything of those next six months. All that remains is a vast tapestry of scars and the loss of his voice.

False hope then came to him in the form of a small, dingy key hidden underneath his meager prison meal. He desperately choked the bread down, clutching the key and note like a lifeline. He would need all the strength he could get, and there was no time to sleep lest the executioner comes for him. That thought was the only thing keeping him going, really. Were he to fall, who would save his Emily? He went through the prison in a daze, only scarcely aware of the carnage left in his wake. His fingers shook as he placed the explosive.

He briefly noted how the polluted water chilled him to the bone, but wearily continued on to the drainage tunnel. The unpleasantness of the sewers went almost unnoticed, and—if the note hadn’t said to keep an eye out—the gear would’ve been as well. When he finally escaped back into the sunlight, _Void_ , he must’ve been a sight. Despite that, the boatman waiting for him didn’t react, merely politely introduced himself and caught him as he collapsed into the boat. It was the first kind hand upon him since her death.

When Corvo finally arrived at their destination, he was greeted warmly by those who claimed to wish to see Emily on the throne, to set things _right_. He was so tired, so battered and worn, so far gone he didn't realize that their kindness and and promises of revenge were all a ploy to get him to clear the way for their victory. He didn’t question it, and ended up playing right into their hands. He became their assassin, and tried not to think about Daud.

But they weren't the only ones who so vied for his attention, who tempted him with gifts and sweet words. These gifts, at the very least, were not coupled with deceit, but it was certainly not compassion either. This entity viewed him as a plaything, and he still hasn't decided if that's better or worse than betrayal. The magic (reminiscent to that borne by the Whalers) was an invaluable tool, and he undoubtedly would never had succeeded without it, but it paled in comparison to the second gift.

His empress’ Heart fit in one hand, and whispered ever so softly. He had to strain his ears just to hear her right. When he did and was able to clearly recognize her voice, he broke down right where he stood and silently sobbed until his eyes were puffy and he couldn’t breathe. He often found himself clutching it close to his chest during the nights the nightmares were the worst, and tried to ignore how much the whirring of the clockwork cogs sounded like her dying breaths.

The next morning, Corvo was tasked with his first mission: to take out the High Overseer. This one he would perform with no small amount of glee.

He expected the Watch, the Bottle Street Boys, and the Overseers, but Granny Rags was a surprise. She possessed many of the same abilities as he did, and her “black eyed groom” informed him that it cost her sanity, her eyes, and her family. He was struck by how much of his fate he could see in her, but instead of his eyes that were taken, it was his voice. Jessamine also had much to say, most of it a warning. She was once a woman of court, but had sold her soul to the Void, to her groom, and was left with so much power and loneliness it drove her mad.

As he finally entered Holger Square proper, he killed every Overseer in sight. He stuffed each body aside, most of which wouldn’t be noticed for hours and a few who wouldn’t be found at least until the smell started to set in. It took time and careful hiding spots for both himself and his victims, but he eventually saw his chance to kill two birds with one stone. It was so simple, really, that he would laugh if he could. He merely had to switch around a couple of glasses, and it would be his target instead of an old friend that fell. Campbell’s was the only body he left proudly, vindictively in sight, and he found himself smiling for the first time in months as he pocketed the little black book.

If he actually remembered Coldridge, maybe he would note the similarities of his escape to this mission, but no one ever mentioned the body count to his face. They claimed only to care that the people who were actually supposed to die were dead—Martin even praised the efficient brutality he got to witness firsthand—but he heard their hushed voices when they thought he wasn't listening. He was losing it and they knew it. It didn’t help that sometimes he whispered to Jessamine, ignoring the fact that they couldn’t see her. He wondered if it would be better or worse if they could see her newfound, grotesque, clockwork form.

For the next mission, Corvo was similarly gleeful and motivated. He would finally get her _back_ ; that journal had lead him right to her.

He well knew the Pendleton twins, both by reputation and their presence at court. He was glad to kill them, especially after their involvement in keeping his only daughter away from him in who-knows-what condition. Thank the Void she was alright, and kept well. Her room wasn’t the cleanest, but she looked well-fed. He wanted to cry when she didn’t recognize him, until he remembered the mask. Upon taking it off, he was surprised she still did. He had clipped his scruff to a manageable length, but still had a visible beard, sleepless hung heavy and dark beneath his eyes, and hunger sharpened his features. He looked nothing like who he was before.

He began becoming himself again after Emily was back by his side. Even Jessamine was a mite less melancholic. Her smiles and childlike glee, while dampened after her experience, never left her. He felt himself simply sitting with her on a few occasions, just listening to her talk (despite not being able to talk back), and pretending nothing had changed, that he hadn’t killed scores of men in the past few weeks. The illusion was always eventually shattered when she said something particularly dark or violent, and he was reminded that she wasn't entirely unaffected by events both under his control and not.

Corvo’s next two missions he did begrudgingly. He knew realistically that it needed to be done to weaken Hiram Burrows’ political influence, but it also cut into his time with Emily.

He had forgotten what a repugnant person Anton Sokolov really was, and he thought heavily on this as he unlocked Subject 312’s cell, knowing full well she would soon succumb to the illness the good doctor inflicted upon her. He took particular pleasure in watching him climb the bars of his cell in an attempt to escape the rats. He of all people knew what they—and the plague they carried—were capable of.

In the end, he wasn’t surprised a _Boyle_ of all people was Burrows’ mistress. He entered the party rather easily, the estate’s defenses not prepared for supernatural means. As a private joke he entered his name in the guest book, just so Burrows _knew_ who was coming for him if he was to stupid to make the right guess. After some digging, it turned out that Waverly was the Boyle sister that had so enraptured the Lord Regent. She didn’t even have a chance to react before she was already choking on her own blood.

The next mission he couldn’t wait to complete. By the next day, him and Emily could return to the tower. Nothing would be the same, but at least that tyrannical coward would no longer sit on Jessamine’s throne. Climbing up the waterlock, he snuck into Dunwall Tower, a place he knew better than anyone. Previously, he had spent long hours scoping out every nook and cranny for even the slightest of security breaches, despite the guards’ protests that they had everything under control.

Corvo knew exactly how to get into the safe room, and Burrows knew it, too. He finagled his way up onto the roof and through a window. Up just one more story, and the Lord Regent had a blade stuck in between his ribs, puncturing the lung just like what he ordered done to her. He wanted him to slowly choke on his own blood, and know that he had just lost everything.

Afterwards, there was a grand celebration. Well, as grand as can be managed by a half dozen rebels in a dilapidated pub. The Loyalists made a toast in his honor, but as he knocked back the drink, it didn’t settle well on his tongue. He should have spit it out right then and there, but he was so _exhausted_. There wasn’t much else he could do besides go to bed and pray all was well.

Corvo collapsed as soon as he entered his room. He later awoke, still delirious and barely conscious, Samuel regarded him with the same derision that had steadily been increasing with his kill-count. The last pure soul in this whole damned world risked everything for a man who he outwardly hated. He assumed it was out of pity, as he drifted downstream.

He finally woke enough to properly open his eyes and look around, only to realize he was being dragged to the headquarters of the assassins that killed his beloved and kidnapped their daughter for coin. Their leader, Daud, rambled on for a moment, revealing he had about as much familiarity with that dark entity, that so-called “black eyed groom”. He then promptly took a box he had filled with Corvo’s gear and threw it down down into the pit of a crumbling, decrepit building. He desperately grasped out in vain before the assassin knocked him out in a single blow.

He awoke once more in what could only be described as a hole that had been creatively used as a holding cell. A few rats testingly nibbled at his clothes and hair, but he swatted them away before slowly getting to his feet. He used bricks to bash open the wooden planks that sealed him in and blinked out, so he could wreak havoc on the decaving facility. It was a bit more of a challenge than usual, but he took out each and every Whaler he saw. It was much easier after delving down to reclaim his gear, and he burst into Daud’s office, guns blazing.

The fight was a gruesome thing. Many other Whalers attempted to get between them, to save their employer, but he cut them all down with minimal effort. He finally managed to knock Daud’s blade away when _the_ Knife of Dunwall began pleading for his life. Corvo almost couldn’t believe the man’s utter gall before he gladly took his own blade and dragged it across his throat. He tossed his body at the feet of the building-sized statue of his beloved Jessamine. He felt the beating Heart from his jacket pocket voice her approval, and he felt a shiver up his spine.

The whole of the Rudshore had felt his wrath that night, and was left still and silent in the wake of it.

Still, he raged on and on until there was nothing left. No one at the Hound Pits would be safe, not until he got Emily back. When he returned, Cecelia explained the situation, confirming that Wallace, Lydia, Callista were indeed dead, but their resident natural philosophers were nowhere to be found. The place was crawling with guards, but he stormed in and slaughtered them all without mercy. He ended up finding Piero and Sokolov holed up in the workshop, who had the means to render all left at the pub to ashes. He felt no remorse as he aided in its completion and pulled the lever. There was a bright, white light, and only they three remained.

Corvo found evidence of where Emily had been taken to, and—after hailing Samuel to return—followed down the Wrenhaven on the little boat. When they arrived at Kingsparrow Island, Samuel finally admonished his blatant cruelty and brutality and spitefully raising his pistol in the air before firing. He then turned the skiff out towards the sea, and sped off as the guards rushed to investigate the sound. He never saw the boatman again.

He made his way through the fort, cutting down all in his path. He first encounters Martin, who, wishing to die on his own terms, fires his own pistol up under his jaw. Pendleton also did not need to be brought down by his hand, as he caught the end of an offshoot from the little spat that killed the guard captain. He snivelingly offered bribery and his cousin in return for his life, but Corvo knew his wounds would take him within half an hour, and left him.

When he finally found Havelock, he was at the very top of the lighthouse, and held Emily in front of him. He stood with his back to the edge that led down to the steep, rocky shore of the island. Corvo rushed forth despite the admiral’s warnings, and to his surprise, he actually followed through. He let out a hoarse wail as the admiral leapt backwards, Emily held by the scruff of her shirt. His hand just barely grasped her fingers as he watched her plummet into the jagged rocks. Her neck snapped audibly above the crashing waves where it was dashed against the rocks.

Broken sobs wracked his form as he collapsed to his knees and stared after where she fell. It was the first time he had been able to use his voice in months. Hours passed, and his legs had long gone numb, knees aching sharply as he knelt on that precipice. All evidence of what had happened here was gone, as the sea had long since swallowed her corpse. The Heart hadn't said a word, but beat steadily in his trembling hands.

At least he still had her.  _Void_ , at least he still had her.

* * *

 

_"I'd say I was being punished, but I know the world doesn't punish wicked people. We make our choices and take what comes, and the rest is void."_


End file.
